


Remembrances

by LadyWynne



Category: Asoiaf - Fandom, Game of Thrones (TV), GoT - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Post Season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-01-17 03:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12356076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWynne/pseuds/LadyWynne
Summary: Sansa remembers her youth.  Sandor returns to her.





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> This is supposed to mainly comply with the TV show, set post season 7, but I do take liberties. If it seems ok I may add more chapters, maybe exploring the war to come and Sansa/Sandor's developing relationship in more detail. 
> 
> This is my first fic of more than a few words, so be kind! I know it is clumsy at best. I don't have anyone to read things over for me so suggestions, edits, and criticisms are welcome. Enjoy!

Sansa was sitting in front of the fire, a shawl over her knees and another around her shoulders. She was comfortable, but the chill never seemed to leave her these days. A young man came over to plant a kiss on her head.

“Comfortable Gram?” he asked. She nodded. “I’m going down to train in the yard. Addy will be in soon to sit with you. She thought you may like to join the girls in their sewing this afternoon.”

Sansa smiled. “That would be lovely, Edd.” Sansa couldn’t see well enough to sew herself, but it was always pleasant to be around the young women, all hope and youthful energy. She listened to their talk and admired their work.

“I’ll visit again this evening.” Eddard patted her hand and took his leave.

Sansa sat before the fire and became drowsy. As she dozed her mind wandered to her own youth, and to people who were never far from her heart.

Sansa was in the godswood. As Lady of Winterfell moments alone were rare for her. She savored the crisp air and solitude. It was winter, so there were only a few hours of light a day. She walked back from a copse of pine and cedar where she had wandered. She could see the red leaves of the heart tree if she glanced up, and she did so often, thinking of her father. Her reverie was soon interrupted. A guardsman in a gray cloak approached.

“Sorry to disturb you, m’lady. A group of strangers have arrived and their leader begs audience.”

Sansa straightened. “Who is it?”

“I know not, m’lady. He gave no name.”

She considered; and not willing to waste the light, growing dimmer and redder by the minute, she said, “I will see him here.”

“Very well, my lady.” The man nodded his head and turned, walking back to the small gate.

Sansa waited near the great weirwood heart tree. Shortly she heard the crunch of boots in snow. When the men came into view her eyes widened, though she stayed still. The new man was a head taller than either of the two guards, walking purposefully, and she would know him anywhere. _Sandor Clegane _. She was shocked, but she felt a hint of a smile on her face. She had not expected to see him again, certainly not here, after so long.__

Kings Landing had been a lifetime ago. She had been afraid there, beaten, grief stricken, and so lonely. She remembered the Hound’s rasping voice, gruff manner, and drunken leers; but she remembered gentler things as well. Small kindnesses and risks that it had taken her time and experience to appreciate. He had tried, in his way, to lessen her hurts. She knew now her time there could have been an even greater nightmare. Sansa put her gloved hand against the white bark to steady herself. Otherwise, she didn’t move as he came closer, outwardly cloaked in the icy composure of her station. She was Lady of Winterfell first.

Sandor came to a stop before her and gave a respectful bow. His scars stood out in sharp relief in the light from the setting sun. The man looked different to her eyes. He was older, to be sure, but there was something more as well. She couldn’t pinpoint the change.

“My Lady.” He said, hesitating, and glancing down. Then he straightened, as if to give a report. He was all soldier and loyal retainer when he spoke again. “My Lady, the dead are marching south of the Wall. I was sent by your brother with reinforcements for Winterfell. We must plan the defense, and your protection.” He paused. She had yet to say a word so he went on. “You should bring all the smallfolk and supplies inside the gate and prepare for a siege.”

  
Sansa held up a hand, bidding him to wait. _He speaks as if we had never met. _“Leave us,” she told the men trailing Clegane. They bowed and turned, leaving the way they had come.__

Sansa and Sandor stood mutely. She suddenly felt as she had the last time she had seen him. She remembered his haunted eyes and the reflections of green flames dancing on the ceiling behind him. She fell back on her courtesies.

“You and all your party are welcome of course. Do what you see fit. Your expertise in military matters will be greatly valued by the house guard, I’m sure. Although all is prepared. We have known this threat was coming for months,” she assured him.

  
Catching his brown eyes for a moment she looked away again. _Be brave. Speak to him. _They had a history after all, and the future was uncertain. She stepped toward him. When she spoke again she allowed her armor to soften a bit. “I wondered what became of you. I want you to know that I remember well the things you did for me in King’s Landing.”__

He took a step backwards. His eyes were soft, and she saw…what? Surprise? Regret? Surely nothing she had ever beheld there before. _That’s the difference. It’s his eyes. They’re gentler somehow. The rage is gone. _She went on. “The last time we saw each other…You offered to take me home. Maybe I should have listened. Thank you. Thank you for all of it.”__

“No reason to thank me,” he said hoarsely.

“But there is.” She insisted, stepping closer again. “I am the Lady of Winterfell now, but I have been through all seven hells. I know what true monsters are and you aren’t one. You were the only friend I had in King’s Landing, the only one who ever told me the hard truth. Thank you…Sandor.” Sansa surprised herself by using such a familiar address with him, but she knew this man wasn’t a dog, or a Hound, never to her.

Sandor shook his head roughly, “I don’t deserve your gratitude.” He finally dropped the façade he had been clinging to and closed in on her. She didn’t flinch. “I was a hate-filled, wine-soaked fuck, and you… You were a little bird. I just stood by and did nothing. You should take my head for the part I played then. It would be justice.” He took a step back from her. Grief overtook his features and he held up his palms. “I won’t fight. Do what you want with me.”

Sansa looked at his face in the twilight, her heart breaking. “I don’t blame you for anything that happened.” She reached out to him, but suddenly he was on his knees.

“If you want to spare my life, Sansa, My Lady, then it’s yours. No matter what comes I will defend you. I will die protecting you.” He drew his sword then and waited, breathing heavily.

The devotion she saw in him touched her soul. She put her hand on his shoulder and spoke, “You once said there are no true knights, but Ser, your actions say otherwise.” She stood tall. “You are welcome by my side at Winterfell. Rise Sandor of House Clegane, and serve me well.”

And serve he did. He was stalwart in his defense of her and Winterfell. The war was terrible, but so was the visage of Sandor Clegane in his fury. He became a legend of the War for the Dawn.

Sansa sighed softly and ached at the memory.


	2. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those at Winterfell become closer as war nears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am giving this another try. It has been updated since I posted it before after some invaluable criticism, but it hasn't changed too much.
> 
> Also some comments suggested that the sansan tag was misleading. I'm sorry if that is the case. I thought it signified a close relationship of any kind between the two of them. 
> 
> Thanks everyone and happy holidays to all!

 

Arya sat on the balcony of her home in White Harbor, listening to the waves.  Her lined face turned toward the deceptive sunlight.  It had been a long summer, but autumn was well under way and the wind was chill.  She shivered, and scratched Syrio’s velvety black ears as he purred in her lap.  This winter, at least, the cold would be a natural one.  She was thankful; but the next salty gust of air recalled other, darker winds she had known.

Arya reigned in her horse, taking in the sight of Winterfell in the distance.  She took note of the blowing white banners gladly, and saw how large the winter town had grown.  There had clearly been new arrivals since she had left a few days ago.  Her party’s goal was to warn any surrounding villages of the danger they were all in, hunt, and help with evacuations.  She felt at home in Winterfell of course, but Sansa was the Lady of the castle, not her, and Arya didn’t like to be cooped up for long. She drew her billowing cloak more tightly about her and kicked her horse forward again.

An hour later Arya trotted through Winterfell’s main gate.  She practically vaulted off her horse, and looked around, taking in all the new faces.  Her head stopped suddenly and her eyes narrowed when she saw a stranger who stood a head taller than those around him.  It couldn’t be.  But it was.  The Hound.  He was unmistakable.  Clegane didn’t see her.  He was leading a pair of horses from the stable, speaking to the person walking next to him.  Arya was too short to make out who it was.  Looking closer, she thought he had never looked better. The man even had something approaching a pleasant expression on his face.  He was clean, and still stood straight and strong. 

Arya began making her way over, but stopped when he boosted his companion onto one of the horses.  Red hair blazed.  Sansa.  She should have guessed.  The way the Hound had talked about her sister gave away far more than he intended. Now here they were, riding out together. Sansa was smiling at him in a gentle way; and he gazed back up at her, touching her calf over her skirts familiarly as he settled her boot in the stirrup.  Arya hadn’t seen Sansa smile since she had returned to Winterfell.

Clegane still hadn’t noticed her, adjusting the leather, until Sansa’s eyes shifted her way.  Before her sister could speak, or the Hound turn, she had Needle at his neck. “Hello Hound.” 

Sandor froze and Sansa shouted “Arya!”  Arya ignored her as the man turned, the sword never leaving his throat. 

“So, you did make it on your own.” He said gruffly, staring down at her.

“I told you, I’ll last longer than you.” 

“Aye, so you did.”

Sansa’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them.  Arya stood tensely a moment more before she dropped her sword.  A heartbeat later she surprised even herself when she stepped forward suddenly and circled her arms tightly around him. 

“I’m glad you’re not dead, Hound,” she said, her cheek pressed firmly against his jerkin.

After that, Arya rejoined the routine of the castle.  Despite the danger they were all in, it was good to be home with people who mattered.  Bran, Sansa, Clegane, Sam, Gilly, Little Sam, Brienne, and Podrick, who had returned a day after Arya, often broke their fasts together.  Arya observed everyone carefully, and although the group was sometimes solemn with worry, they grew closer day by day.  Especially Sansa and Clegane.  Arya knew he was no longer the Hound he had been, but she was protective of her sister.  Sansa had been through horrors enough.  However, the more she watched, the more obvious the growing love between them became. 

It seemed Clegane had always been a part of Winterfell.  He spent his days training, scouting, and by Sansa’s side.  He was well respected by the other men and generally accepted in all company, although he didn’t say much.  Arya noticed some lords bannermen looked down their noses.  They knew his reputation, but he sat on councils all the same.  Besides that, Sansa clearly trusted him and valued his input.  Her regard lent him respect from others.  He was the same brusque man he’d always been, but he seemed to stand taller day by day.  Likewise, her sister had changed. Sansa’s icy armor had thinned, she dressed differently, and smiled more.  Arya saw that even as Sandor grew a new sort of strength, Sansa relaxed.  They were good for each other.

It was well their little family came to trust one another.  The war reached them all too soon, as they had known it would.   _Dark wings, dark words_. Arya recited the old line in her mind as the maester interrupted the morning meal.  She had been looking out the window, but turned at once to hear what her sister read.  The hastily written letter was from Jon.

_Sansa,_

_Bran and Arya’s return was welcome news.  I only wish I could offer a glad report in return._

_We have met the enemy at Last Hearth.  It was a bloody affair, and even with the queen’s dragons, we did little more than slow them.  The dead have now turned toward Winterfell.  We are only a day or two ahead of them. The Lannister army has joined us, but I fear it will not be enough.  You must flee.  Take Arya and Bran and Clegane’s contingent for protection.  Make for Riverrun.  Obey me in this Sansa. All my love goes with you, and with Arya and Bran._

_Your brother,_

_Jon_

Sansa finished reading and raised her eyes.  They found Arya’s and held them a moment, a look of understanding passing between them.  Sansa’s face then found Sandor’s.  She reached across the table and gripped his hand.

Arya’s hand clenched and Syrio hissed with indignation.  Even after all these years she was as much a wolf as ever, and the loss of any of her pack still made her howl.


	3. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon arrives at Winterfell. The dead are close behind him. Sansa and Sandor know it's now or never.

Together

Sansa coughed softly.  The autumn didn’t agree with her, it seemed.  She had barely touched her meal, but under the gentle concern of her family she made sure to take some soup.  Those around her were happy.  Cheerfully going on with their guests, the Lord and Lady Manderly, whose daughter would wed Edd in a fortnight.  Sansa smiled at the girl, who beamed next to her grandson.  Above their heads was a tapestry commissioned after the war with the Night King.  It depicted Jon and Ghost, dawn breaking above the Wall behind them.  Sansa missed her brother.  He rarely made it North, and she never went South.  The setting made her recall her own wedding, and her dear brother’s solemn face as he gave her away.

Winterfell was on high alert.  Jon and his armies were expected at any moment.  Brienne guarded her closely, and Sandor regularly took turns beside her as well.  Luckily, no dead had been seen nearby, but more people poured in from the surrounding countryside, smallfolk and wildlings alike, seeking whatever protection Winterfell could offer.  It was a problem.  Although Winterfell was used to the winter town springing up outside the gate, these people would not be safe outside.  Plans had to be made to find space for everyone.  Sansa sighed and kept moving, making her rounds and speaking to many people as she passed.

As she moved down the covered walkway overlooking the training yard she paused to watch Sandor spar.  She was struck by how confident he was in his movements, his parries and thrusts well practiced, his style aggressive.  He may not be quite the swordsman he had been, but he was the best in the yard by far.  He made short work of his sparring partner and moved away to catch his breath.  He seemed to sense her looking.  He glanced up and met her eye, not quite smiling, before squaring up again.  Was it just her, or did he seem a touch more eager during this round?  She _did_ smile, gods it still felt odd, before reluctantly moving on.

Continuing toward her solar with Brienne, Sansa saw a shadow disentangle itself from a corner and become her sister, Arya.  Sansa and Arya often spent time together following Sansa’s morning tour.  Arya stepped in beside her sister and they continued together.

“We are in agreement?” Arya asked.

“We are.” Sansa nodded.

“How did he take it?”

Sansa paused, glancing down. “You haven’t told him?!” Arya grinned.

Sansa sighed.  “He thinks I am getting everything prepared and we ride tomorrow.” Sandor would never agree with her decision to stay at Winterfell, but she had absolutely no intention of leaving.  Whatever came, she would face it here.  She was a Stark. Arya and Bran felt the same.

Before more could be said a man came hurrying up and bowed his head. “Riders approaching m’lady. His Grace and his armies.”

Arya grinned and hurried off to get Bran.  Sansa went to welcome her brother, and face the ire of both men.

Sansa was eager to see Jon again, but as she watched the group coming through the gate her heart sank.  They were a bedraggled and seemingly broken company.  Many were wounded, some so severely that they would have been left behind in a conventional war.  No one was left behind now however.  Even those who couldn’t walk or ride were dragged through the harsh winter snows in a forced march.  It was no mercy, but the alternative was facing them as wights on the battlefield. 

Sansa gave orders for the care of the newcomers, but all the while she scanned the crowd for Jon. Sandor joined her.  Finally, she saw him and let out a breath of relief.  He was riding in under his own power, Ghost loping close beside him.  Jon’s head swerved until his eyes found hers.  She saw his jaw tense.  He wasn’t happy.

Jon dismounted and handed off his reins before striding purposefully toward her.  “Sansa.” He smiled and hugged her, but as he pulled away he gripped her shoulders. “Why are you still here?”  He looked stern but careworn.  She was sorry to add to his burdens.  She opened her mouth to reply, but Sandor spoke first.

“We depart at first light. Your Grace.” Jon released Sansa and seemed to notice Sandor for the first time.

“Clegane, you were told to protect my family first.” Anger flashed in Jon’s eyes.  “You know as well as I, the dead never slow nor sleep. Tomorrow may be too late.” Ghost gave a low growl by Jon’s side.

Sandor’s eyes flashed as well.  “She wouldn’t be rushed.” He gestured at Sansa. “Starks are a stubborn breed.”

Sansa stepped between them.  “I am not leaving.” She made the statement with conviction.  Instantly the eyes of both men were on her.  She sighed. “We are not leaving. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. Bran and Arya agree.  We will never abandon the North.”

Sandor huffed.  “The hell you won’t.”

But Sansa looked to Jon.  Her brother clenched his fists.  “You can.  You will.”

Sansa shook her head and moved to stand next to Sandor, taking his hand in her own.  He relaxed instantly.  Jon took in the gesture, then looked at her.  Seeing her determined face his own fell in defeat. “I don’t’ want to lose you.” He spoke softly then.

Sansa nodded sadly.  “I know, but my place is here.  Come inside Jon” Sansa stepped forward. “Get warm.”

Jon nodded tiredly.  “To my solar then.”

They started across the yard.  They had gone no more than a dozen steps when a blur hurtled toward them.  Sansa stepped aside just in time to avoid being knocked off her feet.  She laughed as Arya hugged Jon fiercely.  It did her heart good to see them together.  As she watched Jon mussed Arya’s hair, and the worn expression on his face changed into a teary grin.  “Arya” he breathed.  They held to each other for a long moment, until finally Ghost wiggled his nose in far enough to give Arya a small lick.  She pulled away then, laughing and scratching the direwolf’s great white ears.

When Jon looked up he saw Bran.  “Gods be good!” Jon reached him in two strides, leaned down, and enveloped Bran in a hug.  When Jon straightened his weariness seemed replaced by wonder.  He looked around teary-eyed at each Stark in turn. “If only father could see us now.”

The next day passed in a frenzied blur of preparation.  Jon gave the news that the queen had been lost at Last Hearth, and with her much of their hope.  At least she had taken Viserion out with her.  Still, the North continued on.  There was no option for surrender.  Finally, the scouts returned with news.  The dead would arrive on the morrow. 

That night there was nothing left but to be with one another and wait.  Sandor had been accepted by Jon as he had by the rest of her family.  Everyone understood the danger they were in, and no one was interested in pretense.  The Starks, Sandor, Brienne, Sam, Gilly, and Pod sat around the fire in Sansa’s large solar.  They reminisced a bit, some wrote letters, but mostly they just sat together. 

Sansa was positioned between Sandor and Arya on a low sofa.  She leaned her head on Sandor’s shoulder and soaked in the warmth of his arm around her.  It was almost possible to forget the peril they were all in.  After a while Sandor shifted.  She sat up to allow him to adjust, but instead he slipped off the sofa and went to one knee before her.  Everyone in the room turned toward them.  Sandor gently took one of her hands in his own.  His eyes took her breath when they met hers.  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly.  “Sansa, I’m no bard, but I don’t want to go out the gates tomorrow without making sure you know. I love you, Sansa.  Little bird, will you marry me?”

Sansa was overcome.  “Yes,” she nodded as she spoke.  She leaned over and kissed him, their fingers intertwining.  Sansa looked at him. “Let’s go now,” she said. 

“Aye” he responded, still gazing at her lovingly.

They rose and turned to face the room, Sandor’s arm around her waist.  Everyone was smiling, even Bran.  Sansa looked around smiling before walking over to Jon. “Jon,” she started, almost shyly.  “Would you stand in for father today?”

He choked up a bit. “It would be my honor, Sansa.”

Before she could go to the godswood, the other ladies turned her aside.  She headed to her chambers instead, sending a smile over her shoulder at Sandor as she let them lead her away.  Almost an hour later, everyone was ready. 

It was dark and torches made an aisle leading to the great weirwood.  All in attendance held lanterns glowing with as many candles as would fit inside and more lanterns hung from the branches above them.  Sansa arrived on Jon’s arm.  There hadn’t been time for any real preparations.  She wore a simple gray dress, but her cloak was a lovely one that had belonged to her mother, gray, trimmed in rabbit fur, with a large Stark direwolf beautifully embroidered on the back.  Her hair was long and loose, and she wore a crown of blue winter roses.  Arya attended her as well.  As they arrived she handed Sansa more roses to hold.  Sansa leaned down so Arya could kiss her cheek, her sister smiled at her and stepped over to stand next to Podrick. 

Sansa looked toward the tree.  Sandor waited there, with Bran and Sam.  He stood tall and looked noble in all black.  Someone had procured a cloak for him as well.  It was black, with no sigil, but it was finely made, and lined in gray wolf pelts.  As he took her in, Sandor’s eyes widened and conveyed his pride and pleasure.  They never broke eye contact as she moved toward him.  Reaching the tree, she finally turned to Jon.  Jon looked at her, and in that moment it was her father’s eyes she saw staring back at her.  Jon held her hand, “You look beautiful.  You deserve this Sansa.” He kissed her cheek and moved around her to remove her cloak before stepping back to stand next to Brienne.

Sandor came forward then, and draped her in his own cloak.  As it enveloped her she felt loved and safe, knowing that this was a man who respected and cared for her simply for herself.  They turned to face the tree. 

Bran spoke solemnly from his place next to the ancient carved face, “The Starks have the blood of the first men.  Tonight the old gods bear witness to this union.”  Then Sam spoke, “May the old gods and new bless you and keep you always. Say your words.”

Sansa and Sandor turned toward one another.  They spoke together. “I am yours and you are mine, from this day until the end of my days.”  Sandor leaned down then, and pulling her waist securely to him, kissed her deeply.  It felt like they were the only two people in the entire world.  Everyone applauded until they finally broke apart, smiling and breathless.

“Is all well, Gran?” Edd asked, noticing her tears.

“Everything is perfect, sweetling,” she answered softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Aaahh weddings. : )  
> BTW I have chosen to ignore Jon's parentage, at least for now. Sam and Bran have no reason to distract him in these tense times anyway.


	4. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time cherished together on their first night as a married couple, and what they know could be the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to go ahead with this super-short chapter because we all deserve some added sweetness for the holiday season! 
> 
> Warning for past abuse.

Sansa smiled and clapped happily along with everyone else.  Edd and his new bride were just departing the wedding feast.  The girl blushed prettily as Edd swept her off her feet and up the stairs.

After the wedding Sansa and Sandor paused with the others by one of the roaring hearths in the great hall.  The hall was full, many people were using it for a place to sleep, but the atmosphere was subdued. Each person was busy with their own loved ones, their own comrades, their own thoughts.  No one bothered the small group of highborns.  Sansa spoke to each member of her extended family.  She took the time to express what every unique relationship and person meant to her.  Though she didn’t always say the words, she told them thank you and I love you.  Sandor spoke to everyone as well, and seemed to spend an especially long time with Arya, clasped Brienne’s arm meaningfully, and ended up speaking long with Jon.  Sansa knew they respected each other, but she also knew they were likely confirming their mutual understanding of plans for what the dawn would bring.

Finally, Sansa and Sandor’s eyes met.  She walked over and he took her hand, leading her from the hall.  They continued silently hand-in-hand up the tower steps and through her solar, not pausing until they stood before her bedchamber door.  Sandor removed his sword and laid it against the wall.  Then he reached his hand up to cup her cheek before kissing her tenderly. 

“Hello wife,” he almost whispered, looking into her eyes. 

“Hello husband,” she smiled.

“You are so beautiful little bird.”

She smiled again. This time she stood on her toes to kiss him.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and he encircled her waist in turn.  She melted into him and opened her mouth as their kiss deepened, relaxing fully into his arms as he leaned down.  They kissed for a long time.  When they broke apart Sansa opened the door to her bedchamber.  Sandor looked inside, and swept her into his arms with a growl.  She laughed as he strode toward the bed and climbed in on his knees with her still in his arms.  When he laid her down he leaned down with her for another kiss.  This time letting his hand stroke her arm before roaming down to grasp her hip firmly.  Sandor continued to hold her there as he lay down facing her.

“Do you want this little bird?” he asked. 

“Yes…of course.” Sansa answered.  She really did, almost desperately, but she couldn’t keep a slight bit of nervousness from her face.   

“Little bird, I’ve heard rumors and I know you.  I see how guarded you’ve become.  Also, you can’t hide everything.  I’ve seen your wrists.” She looked away. “Just” he moved her chin so she was looking in his eyes “Just know that I will never hurt you.”

Sansa looked deeply into those loving brown eyes and reaffirmed what she had always known about him. “No, Sandor, you won’t hurt me.”

They took their time, undressing each other piece by piece and tracing each other’s curves, planes, and scars.  Sandor kissed each area of new skin as it was exposed, eliciting small gasps and giggles from Sansa.  She had never been touched so gently, not since she had known him before.  Piece by piece Sandor broke down her walls, and she broke down his.  She ran her fingers through his hair and kissed his scars.  She felt his firm muscles and sighed his name.  Their passion grew as they explored each other.  When they finally joined Sansa felt so safe and so adored.  She let herself go completely.  She hadn’t known it could be like this.  She kept her blue eyes locked with his brown ones until her mind clouded and there was no thought, only sensation, only Sandor.

“He seems happy, doesn’t he mother?”

Sansa nodded. “Yes.  What a wonderful match you and Aenor made for him.  She is lovely, and kind as well.”

“Thank you, mother, but you still outshine every other lady in the hall.”  Sansa smiled at the well-meant compliment and patted her son’s hand.

 


	5. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dead arrive at Winterfell for the final battle.

Edd had been married for a fortnight, and had been busy settling in his new wife.  However, he never neglected her for long.  He had agreed to spend the morning with Sansa, and she was grateful. They broke their fasts together in her chamber before the fire.  Edd watched her pick at her food concernedly, and she tried to pretend to enjoy the meal; but, even for him, she couldn’t make herself take more than a few bites. 

Afterward, Addy wrapped her up warmly and Edd took her arm, reaching over to clasp her frail hand in his large warm one before starting down the stairs.  When they left the castle the sudden chill made Sansa cough.  She held her hood tightly and they made their way at her slow pace toward the glass gardens.  A serving girl waited there and clipped several winter roses for her.  As Edd took the bouquet he smiled and tucked a bloom into her snowy hair.  “Here you are, Gran.  It matches your eyes.”

“You are such a sweet boy Edd,” she squeezed his arm gently, “considerate and strong and far too solemn, just like my father. You will make a wonderful Lord of Winterfell some day.” 

Edd smiled at the compliment.  They followed the path to the lichyard where she placed a rose for Lady. She was shivering in her furs, so they lingered there only a moment before turning their feet toward the crypts.

Sansa lay with her head on Sandor’s chest.  He had his arm around her shoulders, lightly tracing patterns on her skin.  She knew that he should sleep.  He would ride into battle at first light, but she said nothing.  He preferred it this way, and so did she.  After a while she scooted up so she could lay on her side and look at him.  He turned to face her and held her hand between them.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

“For what?”

“For coming back to me, for restoring my faith.  For making me feel safe, for gentleness, for love.” The future was so uncertain, but she couldn’t keep the little bird inside herself from dreaming. “Thank you for marrying me Sandor. We could have such a beautiful life. Lord and Lady Clegane, mayhaps with lands, mayhaps with a family.”

He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. Then he traced the line of her jaw gently. “You will have a beautiful life Sansa.  My little bird will see spring.  I promised to keep you safe, and I will.”  She kissed him then, and for a while there were no more words.  

Hours later Sansa listened to Sandor’s heartbeat and gentle breaths.  It was so peaceful.  Near dawn she heard the wind pick up.  Then came the bells.  The time had come.  Sandor woke immediately and rose. They dressed and she helped him into his armor. A sense of urgency grew with the increasing sounds of activity from outside. 

When he was ready Sandor turned to her and kissed her deeply, twining his fingers in her long red hair.  Afterward Sansa studied his face, memorizing every line and crag. She didn’t weep or ask him to make promises he couldn’t keep.  He was an honest man, she wouldn’t make him lie.  They had to be brave for each other.

 “Little bird.” He rasped softly. 

Sansa touched his cheek and he leaned into her hand, closing his eyes briefly.  When he opened them again the warm brown had hardened.  Her Sandor was gone, and someone resembling the Hound stood before her. He straightened fully and unsheathed his sword. Without a word, Sandor took her hand and made for the door.

“Stay close to me,” he growled. 

He pulled her into the hall, leading her through the castle and across the yard teeming with men to another tower.  The door was flanked by two men-at-arms.  Sandor glared at them.

“I leave Lady Sansa in your charge. If anything happens to her you’d better be dead, or you’ll wish you were.” 

To their credit the men didn’t falter. “Yes, my Lord.  The women will be safe with us. Lady Sansa is the last to arrive.”

Sandor gave them a warning snarl and turned to Sansa again, pulling her close by the door.  “You are to stay in the North Tower until it’s over.”  He bent to her face. “You’ll not leave for anything.  Promise me Sansa.”

She gulped.  “I promise.”

Sandor opened the door and went to push her inside, but she resisted.  Clasping both sides of his face she gave him a desperate kiss before releasing him, fighting the urge to cling to him. 

“Be safe,” she said. He looked at her long, gently pushed her into the tower, and was gone.

Sansa ran to the top of the tower and to the narrow window.  Through the snow her eyes found the largest warrior mounted in the yard. She gave thought to nothing or no one else. Not when he turned toward her tower once more, unable to see her, but knowing she was there.  Not when he took his place next to Jon and Ghost, nor when the gate was raised.  Not when he charged through, spurring his warhorse into the cold frenzied masses of the dead. Not until he was lost to her sight.

Sansa stood tall in front of the window a moment longer. To the others in the room she was the very picture of a composed lady. She was a wolf, and she was a hound. She could be brave. The highborn ladies were in the topmost room of the tower. Gilly and Little Sam were there as well, at Sansa’s insistence. Arya refused to join them, of course.  Jon had given her command of the archers, the very least perilous position she would accept.  Sam was with Bran in the godswood.  They had an honor guard, but everyone knew they wouldn’t be enough if the gates fell.  Brienne and Pod were in the vanguard with Jon and Sandor. 

Sansa rarely prayed any longer, but standing at that window, staring out into the cold, she prayed for them all.  It was like the blackwater, but she did not pray for the mother to gentle Sandor’s rage, she prayed instead for the warrior to feed it. _Warrior, make Sandor so fierce nothing can stand against him. Give him rage to sustain him. Keep him strong and help him strike true._    There was no answer, of course.  Outside, wolves howled.

The waiting went on and on. Forever.  Day passed into night.  At first the women sang and prayed, but soon they just sat and held each other.  Near dawn, just when Sansa thought she would go mad, there was a pounding on the door.  She jumped. 

“M’Lady,” she heard.  “M’Lady, it’s over.  Unbolt the door.”

Sansa ran to fling the door open.  “It’s over?” she repeated.

“Aye”, the guardsman grinned wearily, “His Grace did for the Night King himself, he did.”

Sansa wasted no time.  She practically flew down the stairs, startling the common women who were huddled everywhere. Once outside gazed around the yard, taking stock. Then she moved through the grounds purposefully.  She realized it would take hours for every soldier to filter back in, and her people needed her.  She organized the relief of the wounded.  She had food and blankets brought.  She set aside areas for people needing the most immediate help. 

Throughout the morning Sansa slowly discovered the fate of those she loved.  She met Samwell and Bran returning from the godswood.  She embraced them both warmly.  Sam immediately set to work on the wounded and told her what he would require. 

Arya was unscathed, and although bone-tired, she exuded a faint pride.

Sansa continually glanced at the gate as she worked.  Then she saw Podrick.  He was limping in, leading his horse.  He was bleeding, filthy, and bruised. He still gripped a sword, but he let it drag along in his wake.  When she reached him, he looked up and met her eyes.  She saw so much sorrow.  Pod turned toward the horse, and Sansa took in the still form slung across it, Brienne.

"My Lady was magnificent," Podrick said softly.  "She kept her oath.  She protected Lady Catelyn's daughters well."  Sansa pulled him to her, unresisting, as silent tears traced lines down his grimy cheeks. Sansa handed off the reins to a passing guardsman with instructions to treat the remains with the utmost honor.  Then she brought Pod inside and let Arya take charge of him.  

Sansa went back out. She could no longer concentrate.  She was exhausted, not having slept for three days, and frantic with worry.  She knew it would take a long time for everyone to filter in, especially Jon and Sandor.  They would be the last, making sure the threat was gone and that no soldier was left behind. 

Sansa wept with relief when Ghost appeared, Jon walking with his arm slung over the great direwolf’s neck. Sansa bunched up her skirts and raced to her brother.  She crashed into him and they held each other tightly. 

“It’s over, Sansa.  We won,” Jon crushed her to him.

“You did it.” She spoke into his hair.

“Aye.  Thanks to your Hound. We owe him all.”

Sansa pulled away then.  She looked behind Jon, but saw naught but snow. 

She turned back to her brother, a question forming on her lips, but stopped when she saw his face.  His eyes told her everything.

“Sansa, I am so sorry.”

Her gut wrenched.  She put a hand to her mouth and shook her head in denial, stumbling back.

Jon reached for her as her vision swam. Then everything went black.

Edd hung back against the wall while she finished her visits.  

Sandor was in Robb’s niche, the last King of Winter to be laid to rest.  Her spot beside him had been reserved for decades past, and while no statue adorned their place, a dog and a direwolf intertwined on the cover of the crypt they would share.  Sansa ran her hand over the cold stone. 

“I love you,” she whispered, and placed the last of her blue winter roses.


	6. Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New life comes with the spring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.

Sansa sat at the high table in the place of honor between her son and grandson.  It was her nameday, and those in the great hall toasted her health.  The kitchens had prepared many of her favorite foods; crispy duck, carrot and leek pie, buttery turnips, fiddleheads, and lemon cakes. 

Sansa had a wonderful night.  Arya was visiting, and Ser Podrick had come with his family.  The hall was warm and bright, and Edd had even arranged for a bard to come north for the occasion. 

Her son, the King in the North, rose from his seat.  He stood tall beside her as the hall quieted.  “Thank you all for coming to honor Lady Sansa on her nameday.” He turned to her. The King was known as a fierce and fair ruler; however, he was only ever gentle with his lady mother.  “Mother, you are the truest of Ladies, kind and generous and good.  We thank you for all you have given for the North, and for me. Happy Nameday.” He bent and kissed her cheek. Then he raised his horn.  “To Lady Sansa!”

“Lady Sansa!” the hall echoed. 

Sansa smiled at her son and then to all those gathered.

That evening as Sansa retired, exhausted, she was as happy as she had been since the war.

Sansa woke in darkness.  She was in her own bed.  At first, she thought it was still her wedding night.  She sat up and her eyes fell on the wilted crown of roses she had worn that evening.  _Oh gods._ She fell back down and clutched at the bedding.  She could smell him faintly on it.  Her sobs brought a handmaid, and then Samwell.  She was given a bitter drink and slept again.

Sansa didn’t leave her rooms for the next few days.  Her family and friends visited and offered sympathy.  Over time she learned how the battle had gone. Early on the forces of the North had pushed successfully against the enemy, but the advantage was short-lived.  Even as they fought, their own dead rose and turned against them. 

“It was horrific,” Pod confessed as he sat in her solar.  “One minute you are side-by-side, protecting each other, and the next he’s swinging for you.” Pod took a small sip of ale.  He had been wonderful to Sansa.  They often sat quietly for hours in their shared grief.

During the battle, Pod had stayed close to Brienne.  Her Valyrian blade made her indispensable and she knew it.  She stayed outside the gates as long as possible, only reluctantly returning for short periods of rest.  Sansa’s eyes grew watery as he described how Brienne kept close to the wall where Arya commanded.  She prevented the enemy from forming gruesome towers from their own undead bodies that could breach the battlements.  All the while Arya rained down fiery arrows around them.  Once, when Brienne was in the castle, the dead made it over the outer wall.  Arya desperately sent them screaming into the dry moat, but the fall meant nothing to dead men.  Finally, Arya drenched the area between the inner and outer walls with oil and lit it on fire.  That had saved hundreds of lives inside the castle and allowed Bran to continue his work.

Bran, with great effort, had brought Nymeria and her pack close to Winterfell.  He spent the battle alternately warging and feeding information to Sam.  Samwell coordinated the castle’s defense and adjusted battle strategy based on Bran’s word.  Once he even rode out to Jon with crucial information, armed with nothing but a dragonglass dagger.  

Jon had spread the word that killing the White Walkers was a priority.  Destroying them destroyed all the wights they had raised.  Killing the Night King himself would stop them all.  From the moment he left the castle Jon’s eyes were fixed on that goal.  Ghost and Sandor had stayed by his side the entire battle.

“He was unstoppable.” Jon said of Sandor during a later visit.  “He’s the strongest warrior I have ever seen.  I saw him slice through four wights with one swing of that sword Sam gave him.” Jon was referring to Heartsbane.  Samwell had given the Valyrian steel blade, the ancestral sword of House Tarly, to Sandor to wield in the battle.  Jon’s solemn face stared into the fire a moment, remembering. “Clegane saved Ghost once.  Ghost was grappling with some wights when a white walker came up from out of nowhere.  Clegane moved faster than you would have believed.  He took the walker’s arm off before finishing him.  He never left my side.  He saved me a dozen times, probably more that I didn’t see.” 

Sansa spoke softly.  She had to know everything, but she was almost afraid to hear it.

“Jon, tell me.  What happened?”

Her brother took a deep breath. “We had lost everyone in our group.  Only Ghost and Clegane were still with me when we found the Night King.” Jon shuddered. “I had to take him out, at all costs.  It was the only way to save everyone.  His lieutenants were with him.  Ghost took one of them and Clegane took the other. I went for the Night King.  He moved like lightning, Sansa, and he was inhumanly strong.  We fought, but my blows weren’t landing.  When Longclaw shattered I thought it was over.  He had driven me to my knees, but Clegane had seen.  He didn’t hesitate.  He slid Heartsbane to me.  I swung it up just in time to stop the Night King’s blow, but it left Clegane without a weapon.”  He stopped, eyeing Sansa hesitantly.

“Go on” she urged.

 “Without his weapon, the Other ran Clegane straight through the left shoulder. I thought he was done, but it wasn’t enough to stop your husband, not at first.  He wrenched the sword from his shoulder.  You should have seen his face, pure rage as he killed the white walker. Next thing I knew he was back by my side.  He was covered in blood but it was the only sign that he was wounded.  We went after the Night King together then.” Jon took a deep breath.  “I never saw the last lieutenant grab an ice spear.  As I raised Heartsbane to finish the Night King, Clegane saw the danger.  He took one step forward.  With that step, he saved my life a second time. He blocked the spear, Sansa.  He took it for me so I could end it.” 

Jon paused again.  She waited patiently for him to continue.  After a few moments, he did.

“After that my swing found its mark.” Jon finished modestly.  Sansa knew it hadn’t been that easy.  The battle had taken everything Jon had.

It seemed that each person who visited Sansa had another story to add about her husband.  He had launched himself from his horse to save a group of wildlings.  Bran told how Sandor had ridden the perimeter of the castle, lighting the huge bonfires meant to slow the wights.  Then he had used the torches as weapons.  Sansa had cried then, remembering green flames from long ago, and knowing how brave he had been to do that. The stories went on and on.

When Sansa finally left her chambers, she was asked to the yard. Sandor’s men-at-arms formed a line and stood to attention as she approached.  One man stepped forward and addressed Sansa.  “We are sorry for your loss m’lady.  The Hound, Clegane, he were one ‘o us.  He bled at Last Hearth and he were the first forward in the battle.  Training won’t be the same without ‘im knocking us about.”  Sansa nodded to the man.  “Thank you” she whispered, then louder, “Thank you all.”

Sansa dreamed of him.  It was so real. They sat beneath the great weirwood together, leaning against the trunk.  Sandor circled his arm around her as she laid her head on his shoulder.   

 “I miss you,” Sansa said.

Sandor looked at her lovingly.  “My Little Bird.” Then he surprised her by placing a large warm hand over her stomach. “I am never far Lady Clegane.” He drew her close and kissed her.

The dream faded. As Sansa woke she wore a small smile, the first true smile her face had known since she lost him.

Nine moons later Sansa rubbed her large round belly as she paced.  It would happen tonight, she knew. She was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. She wished Sandor were here.  He would be so happy to welcome a babe.  She remembered his smile.  It was a rare sight, but it lit up his face like the sun on a shield.  She longed for him achingly. She missed his reassuring presence at her side, his hearty laughter and ferocious bark, his utter masculinity.

That spring evening their son was born. It was Gilly who placed the babe in her arms.  He took her breath away.  The babe was a big lad and he was the image of his father. Sansa smiled with teary eyes. She had a piece of him.  She knew Sandor’s strength and honesty were not lost.  The innocent boy her husband had never had the chance to be would bloom in this child.

As soon as Sansa was comfortable in her bed again, Jon came in and sat next to her.  Sansa cooed at her bundle as Ghost padded over.  The direwolf gave the baby a tentative sniff, then a small lick on a tiny exposed foot before settling himself on the floor.  Jon reached over and pulled the corner of the baby’s blanket away from his face.  “He looks like his father.” Jon smiled. “What will you name him?”

“Sandor,” Sansa answered without hesitation. “Another Sandor Clegane.”

“How about Sandor Stark?” Jon looked at her face and held up a hand before she could speak.

“I have no wish to rule, Sansa.  I never have.  Bran doesn’t either.  He has told me as much often enough.  The Stark blood runs in your boy.  He is of the North.  I will be his regent until he comes of age and then step aside. The lords will accept my abdication.  They will have long enough to get used to the idea. Let your son be a Stark.”

Sansa knew Jon had not desired leadership, and he was plagued by the past.  Still she hesitated. “Is that truly what you wish?”

“Aye, it is.” Jon said solemnly.

Sansa was surprised and bit conflicted that such a burden had been placed on her son the day of his birth.  She thought of all the responsibilities being king would entail.  Then she thought of her father.  Lord Eddard had made the North safe and strong with his rule.  Sandor Stark would do the same. And she thought of Winterfell.  If her son were king she would never have to leave, or never feel she survived on Jon’s hospitality, generous and sincere as it was.  Sandor would be the Stark in Winterfell.  Finally, Sansa looked from her son to her brother.

“I will remain Lady Clegane.  I won’t be called differently.” Jon nodded.

Then, after a final moment of contemplation, Sansa agreed.  “Thank you, Jon.”

Jon nodded, the tension leaving him. Sansa smiled and passed him the baby.  “Now meet your nephew, Sandor Clegane Stark.” 

Jon’s look was warm as he held the little one. He had the bells rung that entire day to honor the birth of Sandor Clegane and Lady Sansa’s son, the future King in the North.

Sansa lay with her son sitting on one side of her bed and her grandson on the other.  She was growing weaker.  The maester said it would be soon.  The family had gathered.  “Son,” Sansa whispered.  The king bent over quickly.

“I am here mother,” he soothed.  “We are all here with you.”

When Sansa spoke, her son had to continue leaning over to hear her soft words. “You are so like your father.  He would have been so proud of the king you’ve become, the man you are.”

Sansa closed her eyes for long seconds.  When she opened them again she was no longer looking at her son, but focused on an empty space beside him.  Her eyes widened a bit. 

“Oh, Sandor!” Sansa said happily in her wavering voice. “How I’ve missed you.” She seemed almost to glow as she lifted her hand toward the spot.  Sansa continued to smile.  After a moment, her hand fell again. She inhaled deeply and let out a long breath.  As she did, her eyes closed and her features relaxed.  All cares melted from her face, leaving only peace and joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was my first chapter fic. I can't say I'm happy with it, but writing it was certainly an experience. Thank you to anyone who made it to the end!


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